


Winter's Discontent

by indiefic



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amnesia, F/M, Modern Setting, Modern Steggy, Steve Rogers as the Winter Soldier
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-06
Updated: 2017-02-06
Packaged: 2018-09-22 11:22:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9605660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indiefic/pseuds/indiefic
Summary: from Justine's gifset summary:When Margaret wakes up everything about her past seems so blurry. She learns she’s an agent working for SHIELD who got injured during an op, apparently suffering amnesia. Though she finds herself familiar with agent’s work, astonishingly good at it too, there are still some pieces missing. Questions no one wants to answer. When Nick Fury explicitly forbids her to engage in an unexpected breach alarm in Triskelion, Peggy goes against his orders. The man who got out of one of the cells looks even more lost than she is. More angry, more dangerous, stronger and faster too. Unstoppable. Until he faces her. Somehow it feels as if he is that one missing piece she’s been searching for. But who is he? Who am I? - Peggy asks herself as well.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [beautifulwhensarcastic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/beautifulwhensarcastic/gifts).



> based on this gifset:
> 
>  
> 
> <http://beautifulwhensarcastic.tumblr.com/post/156764373023/when-margaret-wakes-up-everything-about-her-past>

“Shit,” Barton curses, shaking his head as he looks at her.  “You’re not supposed to be here.”

“Quite,” she replies, looking away from Barton, scanning the Triskelion’s cavernous lobby.  “One of the most secure facilities in the country is experiencing a major security breach and no one knows.”

“Oh, people know,” Barton says, cocking his head to the side, motioning for her to follow.  “It’s just  _ you _ , specifically, who isn’t supposed to be here.”

She grinds her teeth together, trailing behind Barton, sidearm ready.  “And why is that?”

“Above my paygrade,” he answers tersely.

It’s a bullshit answer and they both know it.  They climb several flights of stairs and then edge out onto one of the skywalks that bisect the lobby.  She’s not at all shocked that Barton prefers a high perch.  She leans over, straining to see in the darkness and finally catches movement.  “There’s a STRIKE team down there.”

“If you say so.”

She reminds herself that she likes Barton.  For the most part.  Ever since she recovered from her ... accident, he’s been her partner.  He’s been patient with her as she fights her way through the confusion.  When she woke up - after severe head trauma and sixteen months in a coma, they said - she couldn’t use a smartphone to save her life.  But she can handle a weapon.  And she nearly hobbled Agent Mast when he walked up behind her one morning in the commissary.

She doesn’t know who she is.  She doesn’t know what she is.  Oh, she has the file.  She read the notes.  She’s listened to Fury’s line.  But none of it adds up.  None of it  _ feels _ right.  Nothing except the job.  Crouched in the dark at Barton’s six, she feels at home.  This much she knows.  Whoever she was,  _ whatever _ she was, she was made to hunt.

“Do yourself a favor and get out of here.”

She doesn’t bother to reply and Barton lets it drop.

It’s not much longer before both she and Barton see more movement below.  Barton shifts, searching for a better vantage point, but can’t seem to get a clean shot.  He curses under his breath.

She watches, seeing STRIKE team member after team member fall.  Whoever or whatever is down there, is good.  Barton curses again and then jumps from the skywalk to another one, several stories below.  Again, she watches him search for an angle, but he can’t find it.  Whatever is down there is fast, incredibly fast.  And Barton isn’t taking it lightly.

She stays where she is, watching.  For a long time, everything is silent and still.  And then she sees movement on the far end of the skywalk where Barton stands.  She watches Barton’s posture change.  He takes a shot.  The man - it has to be a man, though he’s dressed all in black, and shrouded in shadow - swats the arrow away with lightning quick reflexes.  Barton fires again.  By the time Barton releases the bow, the guy is already in a different place.  He’s on Barton in an instant.  

Without a thought, she vaults over the railing herself, barely noticing the air whistling in her ears as she falls.  Her landing is far from graceful, but she rolls, minimizing the impact.  She skids to a halt, smashing into the railing.  The guy turns on her.  The lighting is still shit, but she can finally make him out now.  White guy, dark hair, heavy beard, dressed all in black.  He’s a big guy, but deceptively light on his feet.  A fighter.  A hunter.

Slowly, she pushes herself to her feet, staring him down.  

She senses the change in him, the exact moment his posture shifts from predator to observer.  He stands still, in the middle of the walkway, looking at her.  “Peggy?”

She blinks, her head snapping back, like he hit her, rather than whispered a name.

“Peggy.”

She shakes her head.  “I’m not.”  She huffs out a sharp breath.  “What?”

He walks toward her slowly, no longer stalking.  Hands out, palms up, like he’s trying not to scare her.  As he steps closer, a shaft of light falls across his face and she’s startled by how blue his eyes are.

It’s barely a whisper this time.  “Peggy.”

He falls to his knees in front of her and then reaches out, wrapping his arms around her waist, burying his face against her belly.  She can feel the force of his breathing, the shaking of his body as he sobs.  

She stares down at him, feeling as lost as she has ever felt in her life.  Slowly, she lifts her arms, wrapping them around his shoulders.  “Steve.”  She doesn’t know who he is.  She doesn’t.  But that name has been pressing against her teeth from the moment she saw his face.

She hears the soft whoosh of projectiles cutting through air.  She watches as the darts imbed themselves in his back.  He doesn’t react, except to hold her a little tighter.  It’s a minute, maybe more, when his grip loosens and he starts to slump to the floor.  She holds him, easing him down.  She brushes away the darts and settles him on his back.

All at once, the lights are on and she’s blinking against the pain.  She hears people running toward them, but she can’t look away from his face.  He looks terrible.  Dirty, bruised, too thin.  Too thin?  She has no basis for comparison.  He’s barely conscious, his eyes rolling back in his head, but he keeps his fingers threaded through hers.

“Get back,” Rumlow barks.

She doesn’t even bother looking up at him.

“You hear me?”

She glares up at him.  “Oh shove off.  He’s not going to hurt me.”

She can see Rumlow’s teeth grind together.  “I wouldn’t be so sure of that if I were you.”

 

* * *

 

She’s standing in front of the two-way mirror, watching the various medical staff take readings and make adjustments.  The man, Steve, has been heavily sedated, but they can’t keep him under for long.  He’s restrained as well, but again, she isn’t clear on how effective that will be.  It’s pretty obvious he already fought his way out of their restraints at least once.  She wonders how long he’s been here.  How long they’ve been holding him prisoner.  And why he called her by a name she’s never used - as far as she knows.

_ But it felt right. _

Fury enters the room and stands at her side, but she doesn’t bother looking at him.  “Who is Peggy?” she demands.

For a long moment, he doesn’t say anything.  “As I’m sure you’ve gathered, it’s you.”

She looks at him.  “And that’s Steve.”

He shrugs.  “He used to be Steve Rogers.  I don’t know who the hell he is now.”

She lets that information sink in.  “Captain America.”

He nods.  “And you were Agent Margaret “Peggy” Carter.  You were both lost on a mission nearly seventy years ago.”

She nods.  She remembers the visions, the white ground rushing at them through the cockpit of the plane.  “The Valkyrie.”

He looks at her.  “Have you known this for a while, or did he jog your memory?”

“A little of both,” she admits.

Fury shrugs again.  “We looked for both of you.  Stark’s father spent decades searching.  Turns out the Soviets had you.”

Her insides go cold, but she forces herself to ask.  “What did they do to us?”

Fury turns and faces her.  “We honestly don’t know,” he says quietly.  “They used Rogers.  Or tried to.  We think he was probably almost more trouble than he was worth.”  He shrugs.  “But you’ve seen what he can do.  If you can wind him up and point him at a target, even for a small amount of time, he can do a hell of a lot of damage.”

“They made him into a weapon.”

“He was always a weapon,” Fury says flatly.

She doesn’t say anything, but some part of her completely rejects that idea.  “And me?”

He looks back through the glass, at Steve.  “We think you were the collateral they used to keep him on target.  As far as any experiments they might have done, I don’t know.  Your memory loss was their doing, not ours.”

She blinks quickly.  “Not your doing, but you took advantage of it.”

“Would you rather we kept you sequestered like him?  You woke up without any memories, Carter.  We gave you a chance at creating a new life.”

She doesn’t bother to argue.  Fury might actually think what he’s saying is true.  But the truth is, the life she’s been living since she woke could hardly be called a life.  She’s done her job.  That’s the only thing she’s done.  The only thing she’s been good at.

But it hasn’t been a life.  For as long as she’s been awake, she’s been aware that something was missing.  Something wasn’t right.  She has ...  They aren’t memories.  They aren’t clear enough to be memories.  Impressions?  The two of them, her and Steve, huddled together in the darkness.

She shakes her head and smacks the glass with the palm of her hand.  “Stop!”  She pushes past Fury.  “They’re going to kill him with those damn sedatives.”

 

* * *

 

Barton arches an eyebrow.  “This is ... unorthodox.”

She knows, but she frowns at him.  She’s reclining in the hospital bed, trying to read a book on her phone.  Steve is asleep, as much of him wrapped around her as he could manage.  “Keep your distance,” she tells Barton, turning her attention back to the book.

Barton hops into one of the chairs, sitting along the back, his feet on the seat.  “Guess you two made friends.”

She doesn’t know how much Barton knows, but probably a lot more than he’ll admit.  She continues ignoring him.

“Should I call you Peggy now?”

She finally looks at him.  “May as well.  I never cared much for Margaret.”

He nods, hands clasped together.  “What do you remember?”

At the sound of Barton’s voice, Steve stirs.  A medic rushes in the room, but Peggy waves him off.  She presses her hand gently against Steve’s cheek and he sighs, burrowing his face deeper into the pillow, his hand tightening on her hip as he fades back into sleep.

“Cho says he’s not on any meds at all.”

Peggy nods.  “He’s not drugged.  Simply exhausted.”

“She says his cortisol levels haven’t been this low ... ever.”

“I wonder why that is,” she says acidly.  “You kept him locked in a cell, drugged to the gills.  He was confused, alone, scared.”

Barton shrugs.  “He killed nearly three dozen agents the first time they brought him in,” he says.  “So excuse me if I’m not overly sympathetic.”

“You build weapons, and then are affronted when they behave accordingly.”

Fury pushes into the room.  “Hold up, now.   _ We _ didn’t build him.”  He waves vaguely at Steve’s sleeping form.  “At least, not this incarnation.”

It isn’t lost on Peggy that Fury doesn’t make eye contact with her.  She wonders if he’s even capable of feeling guilt at this point.  “You’re not shoving him back into whatever cell you had him hidden.”

Fury finally looks at her, his expression hard.  But he doesn’t immediately argue, which she takes as a good sign.  He sighs.  “The Soviets used you to keep him in line.  Let’s see if you can do that again.”

“I’m not going to manage him for you,” she snaps.

“No?” Fury asks, frowning.  “You can’t have it both ways, Carter.  He’s too dangerous to turn loose.  If you don’t want him locked up again, you’re going to help.”

 

END CHAPTER


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